


Hook, Line, and Sinker

by winter_angst



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fish Death, Fishing, Fluff, Graphic fishing, Happy Ending, M/M, Mutual Pining, Sharks, bluefin tuna, boat terms, fishing terms, low calorie angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-16
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23677666
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winter_angst/pseuds/winter_angst
Summary: Jack Rollins has been living his dream life on a bluewater houseboat since his early retirement a year and a half ago.And then, Brock Rumlow ruins it.
Relationships: Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 8
Kudos: 17





	Hook, Line, and Sinker

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kalika999 (kalika_999)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kalika_999/gifts).



> A gift for my Candace as thank you for watching a movie when I was feeling down and for constantly supporting me as I ramble on about hcs for these two dorks. I love you and I hope you enjoy.

Jack drew in a deep breath of the salty air, a cup of coffee warm in his palm as he looked at the scene before him from the starboard. As far as he could see, it was nothing but the open glimmering ocean. The air was crisp but nice and mild, his hair still damp from his morning shower. This was it; Jack Rollins had been living his dream life on a bluewater houseboat since his early retirement a year and a half ago. 

It was solitude and it was bliss. 

And then, Brock Rumlow ruined it.

•• •• •• ••

It was a Tuesday morning, a bit colder than usual and Jack was leafing through one of the many books he’d picked up during his journey inland. He’d decided to stay at the edge of Georgia’s Bank for a few weeks while he chartered a longer journey in his future. The freedom to move at will was a dream come true. 

And then the droning of an engine cut through his blissful silence.

Had he been in the Nav Station he would have attempted to radio but instead he groped around for the binoculars he kept on hand to observe the whales and dolphins, peering out at the intruder. Of course no one had any ownership to this part of the ocean, but this spot was secluded and not even the coast guard ventured to it. 

The boat was shabby but seemed operable as it got closer and closer. As soon as Jack recognized it as a fishing vessel he knew exactly what was happening. He wasn’t sure how he had forgotten it was the start of bluefin season, especially after so many years of working it. 

This boat was clearly a charter and he didn’t recognize it. Not only that but he couldn’t see a single crew member which meant that whoever was piloting the ship was fishing alone. 

Anyone who hadn’t been in the game back when he was definitely had no business trying to catch the massive bluefins in this area without a crew. 

Jack groaned regretfully. He knew the type well: he had been the type. There was a level of arrogance and selfishness that was necessary for the highly competitive season. Bluefin was an ever growing market as the population dwindled. A couple thousand dollars per fish was a modest estimate. It was addictive and it was a way of life. 

Regulations were incredibly strict on catching them so Jack was wary of the new guys, especially those going so far out. And alone? It was a recipe for disaster. Then again, it wasn’t a business for making friends. Without the money to hire a crew, it was hard to find people willing to take a gamble and even harder to find someone trustworthy.

Jack sighed heavily setting the binoculars aside. So much for his peaceful day. 

He went about his daily chores and hoped whatever idiot was on the boat just a few hundred yards away was smart enough to turn around. But the slew of what sounded like cursing in another language and the shrill beep of marking just cemented the fact that Jack was going to have to go over there and try to get the moron to see reason. 

As Jack approached the boat however and caught sight of the guy — well, kid more like it — it was made abundantly clear he wasn’t welcome.

“Back off asshole! This place is mine, alright? Go on your way!”

The thick Brooklyn accent dashed any hope that maybe the kid had been taught by someone local. He was so far out of his element... 

“Want to cool it a minute, kid?” Jack crossed his arms over his chest.

“Fuck off,” he snarled. “You ain’t a fisher, you don’t know what I’m doing.”

Jack barked out a laugh. The kid was well tanned, hair done up nicely which stood out starkly from the too big overalls. His chiseled cheekbones were flushed with anger, excursion, and the starting of a sunburn. He was scowling at Jack as if he was the sole reason for every lost fish, which, by Jack’s last count going off his swearing was about four. 

“I paid good fucking money to find this place, buddy. So just do me a favor and fuck off.”

“Whoever you paid for this spot fucked you over.” 

The kid’s face fell drastically. The anger glimmering in his eyes drained to fear. “W-what? No, no I — Alexander told me…”

“Alexander Pierce?” Jack had hoped to go the rest of his life without dealing with that slimy piece of shit.

He was the worst of the worst. A complete Googan. He took selfishness to a whole new level, often sending smaller vessels on wild goose chases under the guise of kindness so they wouldn’t catch anything and go bankrupt. He also would routinely bring in shorts which fucked up the fishery. But he had the money the small fishers didn’t so the coastguards had a habit of looking the other way for him. 

The kid kicked a bait bucket sending chum spilling out onto the floor. He was swearing viciously in whatever his native language was before he dropped his face into his hands. 

“I’m fucking done for.”

Jack should have given his condolences and sent him on his way. He really fucking should have. But… 

“Listen, Pierce is a piece of shit but he doesn’t understand the long game. The big ones come here during bluefin season. They’re smart so they’re hard as all hell to hook. They follow chum and gorge themselves before coming here to avoid being hooked.”

The kid squinted at him suspiciously. “And how do you know that?”

“I used to be in the game,” Jack shrugged. “And you’re an idiot to think you could have done this yourself.”

He scoffed. “So what? It’s all bust now anyway.”

Jack sighed heavily. “I’ll help you.”

“Help me? I don’t even know who the fuck you are! How do I know you’re not gonna screw me over just like Alexander?”

The truth was there is no guarantee so all Jack could do was shrug and offer his hand. “Well I’m Jack, Jack Rollins.”

The kid squinted suspiciously at the offered hand before he finally bridged the gap. “Brock Rumlow.”

Jack was already anchored so he climbed onto the charter and inspected the supplies. The rod was clearly used and subpar but Brock had good line and decent hooks. Jack didn’t find any live bait and since Brock had kicked over his chum in his tantrum, that was an issue. 

It was fixable however. 

“I’ve still got my rod back on my boat. We’ll rig it up.”

Brock had watched his assessment with a pouty expression and Jack noticed how plump his lips were. He tried to keep his mind on the fishing however and not the muscular arms exposed. A spark of excitement, old but wonderful, had kindled the familiar anticipation to reel in some massive tuna. Jack hadn’t expected to be excited about fishing again, especially not when he was enjoying his retirement so much.

“They keep gettin’ away. Bending my hooks when I try to pull them in.”

Jack chuckled. “Kid, you’ve got a hell of a lot to learn. Start fishing for herring.”

Brock began to protest but Jack pointedly ignored him, climbing back into his own boat and entering the cabin so he could climb down into the storage space. Jack hadn’t sold his rod for the sake of sentiment. Too many good memories of pulling in thousands of dollars worth of fish.

It felt right though as he took it in hand. 

When he was back on starboard he found Brock obediently fishing...and the very nice outline of his ass in the ridiculous overalls. Jack set the rod up in the second mount, well aware of the looks Brock snuck him as he pulled in catches. 

The marking sound went off seconds before Brock began to curse angrily. It only took a glance to confirm Jack’s suspicion: a bluedog. He’d gotten sick of losing money over them ruining his set up and had invested in a commercial shark license. He knew better than to even consider that Brock had one.

“Guess we’re having shark for dinner.” Jack commented, nudging him out of the way. “Get some gloves on.”

“I was just gonna cut the line,” Brock protested.

“That’s a hell of a waste. Get gloves on.”

“But — ”

“Listen, you want my help, you listen to me.” Jack’s crew never questioned him when he was fishing and he found it a bit annoying. “Get on some goddamn gloves.”

Brock muttered something under his breath and pulled on a pair of fishing gloves with the tags still on them. Jack realized that Brock was even greener than he suspected. 

“Grab the line,” Jack ordered, already stepping away.

Brock sputtered, diving in and trying to pull back the yards he’d lost. “Gimme a minute! Jesus.”

“This isn’t a leisurely activity,” Jack replied. “Especially with fish as big as we’re gonna try to pull in. Get that ass of yours moving.”

“I asked for your help, not for you to boss me around,” Brock grumbled, pulling the line. “I don’t even know how to clean a stupid shark!”

“Good thing I do.” Jack grabbed the gaff and approached the starboard. “C’mon kid, show me what you got.”

The proud quiff of hair has deflated a bit, his honey hued eyes hardened with intent as he pulled on the line, mouth drawn into a hard line of determination. The shark began to color so Jack leaned forward and threw the gaff. As expected, it hit. 

“Whoa!” Brock squawked. “That was a real nice fuckin’ shot, man.”

Jack uttered a small laugh. The praise shouldn’t have meant anything, he hadn’t even done anything remarkable, but it felt nice coming from the kid. Jack didn’t let himself linger on that, kneeling down to wrap the tail, narrowly avoiding a slap to the face. It was an unfortunate but common thing though. 

“Get off that rod and grab this,” Jack grunted.

The kid, despite being a novice fisher, was strong. Jack snuck glances at his biceps as they pulled the shark over the edge. Brock sat back on his haunches as he squinted at the shark. 

“Ever had shark?” Jack asked, pulling out his knife and quickly bleeding it.

“No, is it good?”

Jack smirked. “It is when I cook it.”

•• •• •• •• 

Brock hadn’t ever been on a houseboat. He also had never been bluefin fishing. 

He still wasn’t sure what to make of Jack. The guy clearly knew his shit though and if that meant him scraping up enough money to move his Nonna here, he was gonna take the risk. It was a big change from construction and he’d put all his savings into getting his hands on what he could to land a bluefin, so maybe this was an intervention from a higher being or whatever; maybe it was dumb luck. 

Or maybe this man was gonna catch some tuna and toss him overboard. 

“So you really live here, huh?” Brock squatted down peering down into the gallery where Jack was soaking the shark meat in buttermilk. “How long were you fishin’ for?”

“All my life,” Jack stepped back into view and Brock straightened up. “You?”

Brock rubbed the back of his neck, cringing a bit at the sting of a sunburn. “Uh, a few times in a pond an’ stuff but I read up on it.”

Jack shook his head, climbing up the ladder. “You’re an idiot, kid. You’re lucky you didn’t get pulled overboard yet.” 

“I’m not a kid, y’know.” Brock crossed his arms in annoyance. Jack strolled right past him, like he couldn’t hear him. “What’re you doing out here if you’re not fishing then?”

“Trying to get some peace and quiet.” Jack picked up a book and started toward the Nav Station. “Tomorrow we’re gonna move away from my boat. Don’t want the line getting caught on my anchor and chafing.”

Brock grunted. Jack clearly thought he didn’t know what he was doing and he had to prove him wrong. But, the trust aspect aside, Jack was a nice looking guy. He was rugged, five o’clock shadow a bit overgrown and his dark hair messy. A scar ran from his bottom lip to his chin. He looked to be in his mid to late forties, mature without being too old. Brock’s tongue swept across his bottom lip as he looked him up and down shamelessly. There was no harm in looking, after all. 

“Where have you been sleeping?”

“I have some blankets laid out in the Nav Station,” Brock shrugged. “Gotta stay close to hear the marking and see the line bow, y’know?”

Jack looked over his shoulder at him, green eyes clearly judging him. Brock met his eyes however; he wasn’t going to shy away because this guy knew a little more than him. “Get some rest tonight. Take my bed, I just changed the sheets.”

Brock reeled at that. “What? So you can hook one and take all the profits? As if.”

“Kid, I don’t give a shit about the money. You can keep it all, I‘ve for all I need. I just wanna be there when Pierce sees the fish we pull in.”

“That’s it? Bragging rights?”

“Not even that,” Jack sat down, knees wide. For a second Brock thought about crawling between them. He wasn’t here for a hook up though. “Pierce is an arrogant fuck. Having someone as green as you pull in a bigger fish than him? It’ll drive him fuckin’ nuts.”

Brock sucked on his teeth. It wasn’t like he was in a position to say fuck you and go off on his own. Jack seemed to know what he was talking about and if he was being honest, this was the best thing that could have happened. 

“Well...thanks then, I guess.” Brock said. “But where’ll you sleep?”

“I’m gonna fish for bait and chum.” 

Brock smirked. “You sure you can do all that at your age?”

Jack rose a brow. “Keep it up kid. I’ll cut your lines.” 

There was no malice in Jack’s voice so Brock laughed. 

Maybe this arrangement could be fun after all?

“The meat’s gotta soak for at least four hours, are you as good at poker as you are at fishing?”

Brock laughed. “Guess you’ll just have to find out.”

•• •• •• ••

Once Jack was out almost sixty bucks he retreated to the kitchen, ultimately impressed by the kid. Brock followed along. They had chatted while they played and Jack learned he was twenty one as of last month and was out here trying to make enough to get his ailing grandmother from Italy to his Brooklyn apartment so he could care for her. He was in construction by trade, with aspirations of becoming a professional boxer of all things. 

As Jack had suspected he was out there with no practical knowledge to apply. Jack probably should have been annoyed but something about Brock drew him in. Maybe it was his fearlessness, his willingness to go all in that reminded him of himself. Hell it could have just been the fact he was actually really good looking even though his cologne was atrocious. Brock had seen his shower and given Jack what could only be described as ‘puppy dog’ eyes and he was powerless to refuse. It got rid of the cologne so Jack considered it a win.

“So what’s the deal with the buttermilk?” Brock asked when Jack drew it out the fridge. 

His hair was still damp and he smelled like Jack’s soap which was a bigger turn on that it should have been. Now they weren’t fishing he had ditched the overalls and was wearing a well fitted tee that showed off just how ripped he was, and a pair of worn blue jeans that made his ass look even better than Jack expected. 

He tried to keep the thirty year age difference in mind as they squeezed into the too small gallery together. Brock tucked himself at the booth to watch Jack prepare their dinner. Jack tried to remember he was teaching here and ogling his fishing student was probably in poor taste.

“Sharks urinate through their skin. You soak it to get rid of the ammonia and urea. Not cleaning and preparing the shark properly ruins it. That’s why you bleed it immediately.” 

Jack began to pat the steaks dry and in the corner of his eye he could see Brock wrinkling his nose. “Is that why you gotta bleed the tunas too?”

“No, that’s because of lactic acid. You gotta cool ‘em down fast. You should also cut the head off immediately too. I woulda thought you’d learn that from your reading.”

“They didn’t go into details,” Brock shrugged. “I know about lactic acid from boxing though. It’s a bitch to deal with.”

Jack hummed in agreement. Wiping his hands off on a towel he pulled seasoning down from the cupboard over the little sink, glancing out at the sunset glowing over the ocean line. A content smile swept across his face and forgot for a moment he had company. 

“It sure is pretty out here,” Brock’s voice dragged him out of his daze and Jack quickly got back to work. “My first time this far out on the ocean and I think I could get used to it.” 

Jack began to coat the steaks in oil, so when he seared it the seasoning would stick. He smiled though. 

“I like it out here. It’s quiet, jus’ me, my boat and the fish.” It’d been a while since he talked to someone outside of pleasantries while on land restocking. Brock was easy to talk to though. “I knew when I was a boy and my dad took me out here, this was what I wanted. I caught my first bluefin when I was fifteen and as soon as I realized the kinda money they fetch in Japan I knew this was how to get here fast.”

“It’s crazy isn’t it?” Brock said, shaking his head a bit. “‘Bout a thousand bucks per hundred pounds. It seemed like an easy way to make a lot quick.”

“It can be,” Jack looked up at him. “if you know what you’re doing.”

Color graced Brock’s neck before he cheekily retorted, “Well, I got you now right? This’ll be easy.”

Jack laughed. It was a good laugh, the deep kind that brought tears to his eyes. Brock just gawked at him. “What?” He demanded. “What’s so fuckin’ funny?”

“If you expect this to be easy, you’ve got another thing coming to you. Back when I had a fully trained crew, it was hard. With just you and me and a group of thousand pounders in this area?” Jack lost it, laughing once more. “Christ kid, that’s the best laugh I’ve had in years.”

Brock looked grumpy, clearly not enjoying being the butt of a joke but Christ did that kid have a lot to learn. “Yeah, well,” Brock leaned back with that pouty look once more. “Shut up and cook.”

Still snickering, Jack began to liberally apply sea salt, pepper, dried garlic, and smoked paprika. “Why don’t you do something that’s actually easy and slice up a lemon, onions and a red pepper for me? They’re in the crisper in my fridge.”

Brock grumbled in what Jack now knew was Italian and obediently did so. Jack preheated the oven. Of course with Brock working at the table and Jack at the counter they were practically bumping elbows. When Jack turned to grab a pan for searing, Brock’s very nice ass was suddenly flush with crotch. Brock, realizing, tried to shift out of the way and ended up grinding against Jack’s dick which was starting to twitch with interest. 

Jack grabbed the cast iron and turned around quickly, cursing himself as he tried to offer a casual apology. 

“No problem.” Brock didn’t sound fazed at all. “Kitchen wasn’t made for two, huh?”

“Not exactly,” 

Jack tried to keep focused on cooking, applying oil to the pan. The one top cooker was trusty and never gave him trouble. It also had an oven that was just big enough to fit what Jack wanted to cook. The gallery wasn’t made for two people who weren’t ready to be touching but a couple? It would have been perfect. And of course he wasn’t thinking about that — they’d only just met today. That would have been utter insanity... But Jack couldn’t get it out of his head.

He seared the steaks quickly when the pan was to temperature, just thirty seconds per side. If shark steaks got over cooked they turned hard and then you may as well have been eating a pork chop. 

“Done.” Brock turned around, his warm body pressed against Jack’s back as he slid around to stand beside him. “Anything else I can do to help?”

“Grab me a baking pan.” 

Jack moved the steaks back to a plate and dropped half a stick of butter into the hot pan, crushed up a few cloves of garlic and added the veggies. He waited until the veggies were almost cooked and then dumped them into the offered pan. He set the lemon slices on top to bake over the steaks. Brock had sat down out of the way which made tenting the aluminum foil and getting the pan in the oven relatively quick. Cleaning up was fast as well, and soon Jack was leaning back as the smell of the cooking steaks wafted around then. Thankfully his cock had calmed down but Jack began to worry about having to press against him when swapping places at the rod when he hooked a tuna.

“Smells pretty good,” Brock commented. 

“Course it does, I’m cooking it.”

Brock smiled at that. “You’re a little full of yourself, you know,” he commented with a laugh.

“That comes with being the best, kiddo.” Jack drawled. 

“So what’s the biggest you’ve pulled?” Brock asked, leaning forward a bit. 

“One hundred and twenty eight inches.” There was a tone of triumph that Jack couldn’t help. But with a fish that size, how could he not be proud. “1103 pounds.”

Brock whistled, eyes wide. “Jesus! That’s really something.”

Jack nodded in agreement. There was nothing to compare the feeling to. It wasn’t the money that he reflected on with fondness, it was the thrill, the rush of adrenaline as he pulled in such a massive, gorgeous fish. It was…an experience like no other. 

After letting the steak cook for about fifteen minutes, Jack took it out and pulled off the aluminum foil. The steaks were absolute beauties. Glistening flesh that Jack knew would be juicy and tender. He wasted no time in plating it, piling the veggies on the side. 

“Jesus,” Brock muttered. “These are pretty big.”

“Eat up, you’ll need your strength.” 

At the booth table, their knees were touching but Brock didn’t seem to mind. He was too busy scrutinizing the food. “I mean it looks really fuckin’ good and it smells nice but… What’s it taste like?”

“Like shark,” Jack grinned at the unimpressed look directed at him from Brock. “But if I was to compare to another type of fish… I guess swordfish.”

“Oh.” Brock perked up at that seeming reassured. “Yeah, okay. I like that.”

The groan that left Brock lips when he took the first bite of the steak had blood rushing directly to Jack’s cock. “Oh my god,” moaned Brock, tilting his head back. “That’s way better than swordfish,”

Jack’s teeth worried his bottom lip before he trusted himself to reply. “I’m glad you like it.” 

They talked between bites. Brock asked about Jack’s time on his own boat, about his crew and if they were still fishing. 

“They were a hell of a group. I know Steve drags Bucky out still but they’re not in it for the money, just the thrill. Clint is still fishing though, but he’s one of the good guys. Looks for the best in everyone and always wants to help people out. His wife, Natasha? Well she’ll give you bad coordinates in a heartbeat but she’d also cut a line if you radioed that you were marooned with a dead battery.”

Brock laughed. “Sounds like they were a hell of a crew.”

“Did I mention that Bucky only has one arm?”

•• •• •• ••

Full with a restaurant quality meal and chatting with Jack was better than Brock could have imagined. The guy had wild stories from his adventures chasing bluefins and his ragtag crew. One of them was shrimpy and confrontal to anyone they encountered but was the best helm Jack had ever found. His boyfriend, Bucky, had lost his arm back when he was a teenager and worked on a dragger, but he knew how to lay a chum trail better than anyone Jack had met. Clint had worked at a circus prior to getting on his boat but he never missed with a gaff and he could rope a tail faster than even Jack could. And Natasha would man a rod better than every man on that boat combined. 

“We had a good run,” Jack had gotten them beers after they cleaned up dishes and they were sitting on the bow in beach loungers with beers in hand. “It was more of a family than a crew.”

“D’ya keep in touch?” Brock asked curiously. He could hear the fondness in his voice for them. Maybe the stoic guy who loved the isolation of his houseboat did like people more than he let on? 

“When I’m around I’ll touch in. Clint and Nat by radio usually, Steve and Bucky are easier to track down on land. I send postcards and such.” Jack shrugged. 

Seagulls were crying above them and the sky was a warm hue of orange and pink as the sun drifted down to the waterline. As the sun set and the sky turned dark, they finished their beers and Jack showed him to the stateroom. The berth was pretty decently sized, surrounded by windows with a TV tucked up in the corner. Brock felt a bit strange about sleeping in a stranger’s bed but in a way Jack didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. 

“Promise you ain’t gonna catch one without me?” Brock asked as Jack turned to leave.

“The only thing I’m lookin’ to catch tonight is live bait. Once we bring in a tuna we’ll go back to shore and you can cash in and get your grandma home safe.”

The swell of gratitude was overwhelming, emotion lodging a ball in his throat as Jack left, closing the door behind him. Brock tried to swallow it all back as he climbed hesitantly into the bed. The sheets smelled like fresh sea air and Jack. Immediately Brock was at ease. Maybe he was a fool to trust someone so quickly but Jack… 

Brock knew Jack was different. 

Lying back with the gentle rocking of the sea, Brock drifted off thinking about Jack, about bluefins, and about what his line roughened hands must feel like on his skin. 

•• •• •• ••

When Brock stepped onto the boat, hair mussed with sleep, Jack nearly cut his hand open he was so distracted.

He looked down, pulse hitching, and finished chopping up the chum. A night without sleep was nothing for him; he’d had plenty of those in prior seasons. The live bait cooler was full, both lines were mounted and the balloons were in the drift line. If everything went according to plan they would be heading toward shore in a few short hours. 

Brock only needed one of the thousand pounders that frequented this area to get what he needed and Brock had expressed that being his sole goal. 

“Man,” Brock commented, admiring the chum slick and the frenzied movement of the live bait. “Thanks for doing all this.”

“It’s what I do.” Jack smiled at him. “I’m gonna go make some breakfast for us and then we’re gonna move.”

“What should I do?”

“Well, a pot of coffee might be nice.”

The awkwardness of moving in the tight space together had somehow vanished. And sipping coffee and eating eggs and bacon felt like an old routine already. A comfortable silence rested between them. And once they were back on the chartered vessel, it was like they had been crew mates before. 

Brock needed instruction but any hesitation from yesterday was gone because he trusted the instructions was he given. Jack took helm and turned on the sonar system after Brock dropped anchor. 

Then, they stood side by side, waiting. The sun rose in the sky as Brock dropped the chum trail and occasionally asked questions that Jack answered. “If we land this fish,” Brock began but Jack cut in. 

“When, you mean. I never went to port empty handed and I’m not starting today.”

Brock’s smile made a warm feeling unfold in Jack’s chest. 

“When,” Brock corrected, “you gotta take a cut.”

Jack scoffed. “I’m not gonna have some kid telling me what to do. I don’t want your money.”

“Well it’s not fair for me to accept all this help and not give you something in return.” Brock was pouting again and Jack wasn’t sure if he even knew how cute he looked when he did that. “You’ve gotta take something.”

“We’ll talk about that when we’ve got the fish,” Jack said dismissively but he already knew he wasn’t going to take a cent from the kid. 

This unexpected excursion was quickly turning into something special. If anything Jack felt like he owed Brock for reminding him how much he loved bluefin season and for spending the time with him. 

They had just eaten lunch when the marking went off. Jack looked at the screen and grinned. “We’ve got a big one a hundred feet down.”

“More chum?” Brock’s voice was pitched with excitement and Jack thought it was kind of cute. 

“Yeah, keep dropping chum.”

“Should you put down some live bait?”

“Not yet. Keep up with the chum. You want to get the fish going in the wild. They’re not stupid, there’s a reason these guys haven’t been caught yet.” 

Brock nodded his head, eyes wide and trusting as he listened to Jack and he wordlessly did as he was told. Jack watched the screen. “Seventy,” Jack reported. “Ninety… Good. We want him going up and down like this.”

And there was of course no guarantee it was a bluefin, it could have been a bluedog. Until they had it hooked and Jack saw the way he fought, he couldn’t be certain. 

“Forty… Back down to seventy… Thirty…” Jack knew it was time and he quickly baited the line.

His blood was singing with adrenaline, muscle memory kicking it as he hooked the herring and cast it while Brock pulled up the anchor. From there it was a waiting game, a gamble to see if the fish had frenzied enough to act stupid. 

“The trick with it is that you need to let him hook himself. The second he feels the hooks, he's gonna panic. We need that hook down his throat when he hooks himself.”

Brock nodded silently, the look of awe back on his face as he stared at the line. Jack could see how much it meant to him and that just further invigorated him. And then, just like that, the reel was singing and the rod was bowing. 

Jack cursed in triumph and Brock drew in a gasp of excitement, surging forward. Jack caught him before he touched the rod. “Let him hook himself. This isn’t lake fishing where you tug the line to hook them — this is a thousand pound fish.”

“Right,” Brock nodded his head. “Right, okay. Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Jack was still holding onto his arm he realized and he let go quickly. “I’ll tell you when to start reeling him in.”

Brock didn’t move away from him however. His eyes were trained on the rod, a flush of excitement coloring his cheekbones. It was a lovely look but Jack couldn’t afford to be distracted. Approaching the helm, he watched carefully and as soon as he knew the fish had hooked itself he barked, “Now.”

Brock surged forward and Jack had to admit that for a novice, he was pretty damn good. Brock spoke calmly to him, giving him instructions on steering the boat as they cut the space between them and the fish. And when Brock’s arms tired he called for Jack who took over in a fluid exchange where no tension was lost. 

For a two person team, they were doing well.

It was a fight, as bluefins always were. They swapped back and forth twice, both sweating heavily and panting as the strained. This was clearly a large fish and when the fish finally colored near the surface, Jack was elated to know it was all worth it. 

“Look at the color!” Brock cried.

His sweat dampened hair glimmered in the sea spray as the tuna’s massive tail flipped up once and Jack had Brock grab the rod while he dove for the gaff. The tuna took advantage of the momentary tension release but Brock was quickly to react and the tuna was quickly at the surface once more.

Jack took a moment to aim and… 

“Right in the fuckin’ head man!” Brock crowed. 

Jack couldn’t celebrate. You didn’t have a tuna until you had it’s tail roped and Jack dove to do just that as the fish flipped against the side of the boat. It’s tail fins were longer than Jack’s arm length so he had to lean over the edge to slip the rope around. 

The tuna knocked against the boat and Jack lurched forward, nearly tumbling into the water but he caught himself last minute and the extra distance helped him slip the rope completely over the tail and he reeled back, cinching it. 

Together they got the door open and the meat hook through its mouth and then, finally, they pulled it onto the boat. It was beauty, fat and glistening and Jack immediately bled him while Brock shut the door before sinking to the floor, face shining with sweat. 

For a few minutes there was just their labored breathing and then Brock whooped loudly in triumph and threw himself at Jack. It was supposed to be a hug — Jack knew that — but with him so close he couldn’t help but press their lips together. 

Brock stilled a moment and Jack was about to pull away and apologize profusely but Brock threw his arms around his neck and deepened the kiss. It was hungry and adrenaline sweetened. Jack ran his hands over Brock’s muscle hardened shoulders, along his sides, greedy to feel the tanned skin he knew was hiding beneath the Henley he was wearing. 

But, as Jack’s knee hit the fish, he remembered the task at hand and regretfully, pulled away. 

“I wasn’t done yet,” Brock protested, pouting and Jack laughed. 

“We gotta wrap him in ice before we continue,”

Brock sighed heavily. “Aye captain.”

Jack’s head was still reeling at the kiss and at the catch as they measured the fish to be one hundred and two inches long. Jack cut off the head and finished bleeding it before he hosed it off. It was too big to fit in the hatch so they wrapped it in a cold pack and filled it with ice. 

Then they were heading into port to have the fish properly weighed but Jack knew it had to be at least a thousand pounds. Brock sat close to him while Jack helmed them back in, head resting on Jack’s chest like it belonged there. Jack couldn’t argue with that, not with the way his arm fit so perfectly around him. 

As they approached the port Brock had to go and ready the supplies while Jack floated them in. He was happy to see The Avenger there, only partially unpacked and the red and purple paint a bit further down was a sure sign that the Black Hawk was also in. And, of course, The Hydra, the biggest ship of them all...was empty.

While Jack was disappointed he wouldn’t be able to rub the catch in Pierce’s face, he was still glad to see his crew.

Steve and Bucky were having a tuna weighed, a nice three hundred pounder which was perfect for them as hobby fishers. Bucky had grown out his hair a bit but other than that and some new age lines, the two looked the same as ever. Brock was checking in with another processor who was hauling the tuna off the boat.

Jack didn’t want to interrupt and started down toward the Black Hawk. The fluffy blonde hair was a dead giveaway before Lucky barked and raced toward him. Jack knelt down to pet the one eyed golden retriever who licked at his face eagerly. 

“Lucky! Oh, hey Jack!” Clint abandoned whatever task Natasha had probably assigned to him and started over. 

The redhead emerged from the cabin and seeing the small gathering on deck, strolled over. Jack hugged Clint and then Natasha, kissing her on the cheek. He did miss his crew a lot when he saw them. Moments like this were incredibly rare. Maybe Brock was his good luck charm? 

“What are you doing over here? I don’t see your boat.” Natasha looked at him from head to toe. “You just caught a bluefin.”

“How could you possibly know that?” Jack shook his head with a grin. “I helped some kid that Pierce steered out from every known spot.”

“He’s such a prick. I’d love to punch him in the throat,” Natasha sighed wistfully. “Well? Where is this kid that you deemed worthy of your help.”

“Off with the processor.”

“Y’know Steve and Bucky are here too! They just came in with a nice one.” Clint told him.

“Yeah they’re getting weighed. I was gonna stop in after I saw you guys.”

“And I suspect since you rode in on this kid’s boat, we’ll have to bring you back to yours and see this secret spot hm?” Natasha drawled with a smile.

Jack laughed. “It’d be my honor.” 

Natasha grinned. “Perfect. Now let’s go see this kid and the fish you hauled in. See if it’s even worth bringing you back to your boat or just letting you swim.”

•• •• •• ••

The fish weighed one thousand and ninety two pounds...but Jack was gone. 

Fear gripped him around his throat. Maybe the kiss had scared him away? He had seemed interested but… “Brock!”

He turned his head sharply and relief poured through him as he saw Jack approaching. “Hi!”

There were a few people behind him and the red hair made Brock think that maybe it was the crew he’d heard so much about. “How big?”

“One thousand ninety two.”

The blonde man whistled. “That’s a hell of a first fish.”

“Well, I couldn’t’ve gotten it myself,” Brock admitted. “Jack helped me a lot.”

“So I heard,” the woman stepped up and looked him up and down. “You didn’t tell me he was cute, Jack.”

Brock’s cheeks heated up and he saw a flush creeping up Jack’s neck. “Well, I uh — ” Jack stammered but he was saved by the processor telling him to come to the warehouse to grade the catch.

“We’ll catch up with you later,” the red head told Jack. “Go with the kid.”

“I’m not a kid, lady,” Brock protested. 

“Call me lady again and you’ll dead,” she replied, back already to him.

Brock decided that he liked her. The blond man waved at him before following her and Jack nodded at the processor. In the warehouse, Brock got the nod that sealed the deal and he watched his first catch drive away. His Nonna would be with him by the end of the month and the wildest two days of his life were officially coming to a close. 

“Well kid, looks like you’re set.” Jack said as they stood in the empty warehouse. 

Brock expected to feel relieved and in a way he did. But… “I hardly know you and I know I’m going to miss you.” Brock found himself saying.

Jack laughed. “Me too kid. But who knows, maybe we’ll see each other again some day.”

Brock looked over at him, heart heavy and eyes prickling. “Yeah, maybe.”

•• •• •• ••

Jack still thought about Brock Rumlow, even though four years had passed he remembered those two days like it was yesterday. 

Some days the cabin felt too big. He went back and forth with himself on what he should have done, whether it was just a crazy crush or if he had missed out on true love. He had dreams sometimes about Brock, his face still in stunning detail. 

The arrogant smile, that lustrous moan, those pouty kissable lips… 

He tried to be okay with the fact that he’d never see the guy again. Jack told himself that Brock Rumlow was out there, happily married probably. He wanted that for him, for him to be happy. Even if it wasn’t there with Jack, he wanted him to be happy. 

He avoided Georgia Bank and the inescapable heartbreak that went with it religiously. But, near the end of bluefin season, he found himself going back. He thought it would be the closure he needed, the final step to shaking free of the hold Brock Rumlow had on him. 

And when he saw a little boat there, he didn’t think anything of it. It wasn’t a fishing vessel, probably just some locals catching cod. 

But as he heard a familiar voice on the radio, Jack surged into the Nav Station.

“I thought you’d never come back here. Over.”

It was Brock’s voice. Jack held the radio close, a petrifying moment of uncertainty paralyzed him before he pressed the button and said, “I’m in love with you Brock Rumlow.” He swallowed thickly. “Over.”

The reply was immediate and thick with tears. “Copy that, asshole. You shoulda told me sooner. I’ve been comin’ here for three fuckin’ years looking for you. Over.”

“I haven’t stopped thinking about you,” Jack admitted. “In two days you changed my whole world and now… Now nothing is right without you. Over.”

For a long moment there was silence. “You think that kitchen is big enough for two?”

Jack laughed out loud in relief. Everything was going to be alright.


End file.
